Spare Parts
by Rahleigh
Summary: A collection of all the little bits and pieces of Hetalia that I have written that haven't yet or won't ever make it into an actual story. Some of these are songficlets but don't have any lyrics in them. Some of them are from actual stories I'm writing, and some of them I don't know where they came from.
1. Lions Make You Brave' - Al and Matt

**'Lions Make You Brave'**

"Stop bouncing, Alfred!" Matthew hissed between his teeth, though he knew it would do no good. "You're making people stare." Matthew rubbed at his temples, fighting down the tossing in his stomach that rose with every tug the floor gave as the boat puttered it's way on. Matthew loathed boats. Airplanes he could handle, but not boats.

Alfred glanced sideways at the almost identical blonde, sarcastic grin twisting his lips. "I'm not making them do anything Mattie. I'm not God." He argued but ceased his bouncing anyway, shifting instead into a slow side-to-side sway. Matthew didn't bother with glaring at him. It would do no good, Alfred would always be obnoxious. And obstinate. Loud, persistent, he never let Matthew finish a sentence. He snoring was heinous, and he was so damn cocky and why the hell was he traveling with this guy again?

"Mattie! Mattie, I see it! I see England!" Convenience, he supposed. Or maybe it was for the entertainment. And exasperated sigh fell from his lips at his 'brother's' antics, shattering on the shifting and swaying floor of the boat, unheard. He raised his tired violet eyes and there, he could see it too. On the horizon, only just visible through the restless gray waves of salty sea if you squinted. Matthew lurched, his stomach along with him as Alfred threw an arm around his neck, pulling him close.

"We made it Matt, we made it to England! We're gonna have a part in this war yet." He whooped, pumping his fist through the chilled air. Matthew couldn't help himself from the smile small that crept up his lips, meeting his companions bright-eyed grin head on. Yes, they had made it.


	2. Song-ficlets - A lot of America

**I Made It - Kevin Rudolph**

Alfred grinned, slipping and weaving through the thick crowd on the street. Looking on, he took in the grandeur of the city, smiling, pleased.

He had been told it could never be done. And yet he had done it. He was a country. One of the most powerful, and Arthur had been wrong. Alfred had said he would do it, and he had.

His smile dropped at the thought of his former occupier. The man had never believed in him. And Alfred had proven him wrong. He had made something of himself, he was living his dream. He was free.

So why did this taste so bittersweet? Why wasn't he happy?

* * *

><p><strong>Hero of War - Rise Against<strong>

"Alfred? Alfred, are you with us lad?" Arthur questioned, his massive eyebrows furrowed. Alfred looked up from the white cloth he had been gripping. He smiled at the older man.

"Yeah, Artie?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear. Arthur didn't bother to correct him any longer, simply sighed before answering.

"Matthew, the Frog and I are going to dinner. Will you be joining us?"

"Yeah. Just gimme a sec', 'kay?"

"Alright, but make it snappy." He left, the door clicking shut behind him. Alfred let loose a long winded sigh, worrying the material in his hands. He stood up, shrugging out of his uniform jacket and slipping into his boots. He threw the battered white scrap of fabric onto the bed.

He was halfway out the door before turning back to look where he had left the cloth. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and offered his final goodbyes to the dizzyingly ditzy Italian man who had been it's last possessor. The blood stained flag danced in the back of his mind the rest of the night.

* * *

><p><strong>'Renegade' - Danny Gokey &amp; Kris Allen<strong>

He jumped over the closed car door, landing loudly and ungracefully in the seat. He threw the bag down by his feet and pulled his gun. "Gun it, Matt!" The car lurched forward with a screeching of wheels. Alfred fired shots into the herd of black and whites on their tail. He laughed. The car swerved sharply down a side road, careening on two wheels. It was exhilarating.

The phone rang.

Matt stopped driving. He answered.

Alfred tapped his foot against the floor impatiently.

"C'moooon, Matt." He whined, tossing his controller idly between his hands, "We gotta outrun these cops and make it back to base."

"Sorry, Al, but I have to get home. It's already dark and my mom's wondering where I am. We can finish playing tomorrow though."

Alfred groaned, flopping dramatically ack against the couch. "We'll be in jail by tomorrow!"

Matthew stepped over him, apologizing again before grabbing his things and stepping out the door, "Sorry, Al."


	3. Almost Story shorts

**'Singing in the Rain'**

The stench of perfume, deodorant and sweat suffocated the crowded hallway, sneaking into all the crack and crevices and clinging desperately to anything it touched. Gilbert, however, paid it no mind, the smell a daily occurrence in the halls of L'ecole Academy. The whole damn place smelled this way. The red-eyed boy meandered down the hallway, waving candidly to those that greeted him. Which was really anyone who saw him. The sophomore perked up, seeing an oh-so-familiar head of blonde over the top of the crowd. He made his way through the writhing tidal waves of flesh and bone.

* * *

><p><strong>'And If I Love' <strong>_(beginning of chapter 2)_

"Just promise me you'll be careful, aru. You never know what can happen in a city as big as this." Yao fussed at his nephew's uniform, pressing and folding and smoothing out wrinkles and touching, touching, touching. Kiku sighed, putting up with inane actions. He brushed his uncles hands away from his tie, locking eyes with his new guardian.

"I will be fine Oji." Kiku gave his uncle a small smile, stepping back and away from the worried man. Yao worried his lip; He and his nephew had never gotten along as well as he would have liked, but he still cared for the boy. He slipped his hands back into his too long coat sleeves, fisting the material. He liked having the boy around. His small apartment seemed much less lonely with another beating heart within it's walls.

* * *

><p><strong>'Classica'<strong>

"I have powers." The little boy whispered to his father, cupping his hands around his mouth as if to hold a precious secret.  
>"Oh do you now?" His father whispered back a smile of conspiracy glued to his face "And what powers might those be Alfred?"<br>"They listen to me." Arthur had never seen his son so serious.  
>"Who does?"<br>"The Monsters."


	4. All Glory, All Honor' - Yao

**'All Glory, All Honor'**

His arms shook, the muscles spasming as he held his pose. His shoulders protested at the awkward angle, his joints locking as his hips and shoulders fell further into an almost-arc. Almost, but not quite. The boy breathed evenly, even in his awkward position, a habit of long practices and frequent exercise.

He held that almost-but-not-quite-an-arc pose for a few ten seconds, maybe more, before working his weakly protesting biceps once again to bring himself back into a completely up right handstand. He breathed a light sigh of exertion, stopping the shaking in his muscles, lest the coach see and demand extra training.

The young gymnast smiled starkly at the dark wood beneath him, sweat dripping from his flushed skin onto the horse beneath him. He bent his body, slowly and surely, at the waist, almost in half. Thighs to chest. He pressed the balls of his feet to the surface of the cold pommel horse, making sure they were firmly placed before snapping his body upright. He swayed for a minute, slightly dizzy but used to the feeling. Enough so at least to keep his balance.

Dark wisps of ebony escaped the restraint of his hair tie, falling to rest on his forehead. He paid them no mind, not bothering to even attempting to brush them away. Not because they didn't bother him mind you, they certainly did, the tickling they always caused a nuisance of the worst kind, but because it was a useless endeavor. He could brush them away but they would fall simply back into against his sweat drenched forehead.

As soon as the swaying stopped, he bent his knees slightly, bunching the muscles in thighs in preparation for the dismount he needed to practice. He let the muscles snap, propelling him backwards, off the horse, the world flipping head over heels rapidly before his eyes, which he dared not close. His feet hit the dull, blue matt with a thud, and he threw his hands up, striking his customary pose. Showing off for the imaginary audience.

"Decent, Yao. Could be better, but decent. Now, go take a shower and then straight to bed. Early practice tomorrow." The balding man shouted from across the room, where he was pouring over papers, barely sparing the twelve-year-old a glance. Yao smiled to himself, enjoying the rare compliment, no matter how small. He wiped at his brow with the back of his hand, heading back to the room he shared with his fellow gymnasts, exhausted but pleased at his wonderful dismount. Even if was _just_a back flip.

He pushed through the door to the dorms where the students stayed, or tried to. He was baffled when the door resisted, stuck in place. A few moments of struggling and he finally pushed his way through the mess, kicking aside the offending cloth and cotton that had barred his entrance into the room. Why were there pillows and linens in front of the damned door? He looked expectantly around the dark room, looking for the perpetrators of the current mess. All the bunks were full, the students all sleeping peacefully. All but-

"Haha, I shall claim your breasts as my own, Yao!" The dark haired boy screamed, too loudly for a darkened room full of sleeping youths, who grumbled and rolled over in their bunks, ignoring the pair.

"Yong Soo!" Yao whispered back, voice menacing. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Playing. What are you doing?" The nine-year-old asked the older Asian, putting on his best innocent expression. It didn't faze the Yao, as the other knew it wouldn't.

"Clean this up and then go to bed!" Yao snapped, picking his way across the littered floor, careful not to catch his foot and fall. It would him no good to be injured and out of practices for any amount of time, no matter how brief. He stepped and sprung across the floor, putting his acrobatics to good use. He made it to the small bathroom that was shared by himself and his four roommates. He shut the door behind him, clicking the small, silver lock into place.

The young Chinese boy hummed a small tune to himself as he prepared his shower, letting the water run and heat up. A soft lullaby his mother had whispered to him as she'd rock him, slowly and gently. The old wooden rocking chair creaking with movements, well worn from use. For a moment, he was back at home, in his mother's arms, happy and comfortable.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door, interrupting his waking dream, drawing him back to the present. He let the real world wash back over him, sighing exhaustedly. He picked his way over to the door, clicking the lock and swinging it open, revealing a young Japanese man in the door way.

"Kiku?" Yao asked, raising a brow at the usually quiet student. Kiku smiled at him, the action tainted with just the barest hint of amusement and handed him a towel. Yao blushed, taking the cloth from his roommate. How had he forgotten to grab towel?


End file.
